Humming to myself, I was in a good mood as I headed into the office early to get some work done while it was still quiet. You know those days, the peace and tranquility of your office in the early dark morning. I was looking forward to the opportunity to have a hot cup of coffee and settle in to knock out some work, to revel in the knowledge I was being productive.
Bounding up the stairs, I unlocked the door and I started towards my office in the dark. I passed by my boss’s office and something out of the corner of my eye caught my attention, I am surprised to see her. I step into her office doing a very bad impression of Kramer and smile,
“Good morning! I see we both had the same idea to get here early.”
She is wrapped in a blanket sitting at her desk, illuminated only by the glow of a tiny desk lamp. She looks up at me and I knew. She is pale, gaunt and shivering. Her eyes were red and puffy, the way eyes look when they are done crying, when no more tears will come but sadness, pain and confusion has not left. Instinctively I go and kneel by her side and wrap my arms around her. She is so frail; I fear that I might hurt her. She weakly clutches my arm and lays her head on my shoulder. Through the whimpers of a tired, emotionally drained soul I hear her say,
“They found more.”
Minutes pass of her crying with no tears, then, in a barely audible voice she adds,
“I don’t think I can do this again.”
A flood of emotions and thoughts rush through me. NO! NO! NO! I scream in my head, not again! I grit my teeth as I settle on an emotion and grab hold of anger with both hands. My heart races as adrenaline is pumped through my body. I so desperately want to kill it and I am gladly and wantonly filled with hatred and rage for this interloper, but I am tempered by her presence and her condition. I kneel there holding her gently all the while cursing this wretched enemy with everything in me.
They found Squamous cell carcinoma in her throat, the fourth form of cancer in eight years; she has fought a long hard battle and won the fight against an opponent that began its onslaught in her breast then quickly moved to her lungs and then into her bones. Then it shows up as Uterine cancer and then Melanoma and now...now this.
She’d been there before, the chemotherapy, the radiation, losing her hair, the rashes, the nausea and vomiting; the weakness and quite literally, being bone tired. She endured long hand-numbing cold hours on the tables getting scanned, poked, prodded and pricked with needles, swallowing this pill or that one or these four. Yes, she’d been there before.
If there is one thing I know about my boss, it’s that she is a fighter. She didn’t turn over and let cancer have its way with her body. She fought it every step of the way and she won. She didn’t accept her first doctor’s diagnosis. She fought with the system and got accepted into a clinical trial. She was not going down without a fight. Through those years I watched her. She lived her life. She came to the office to work and she had fun when she could. She took her work home with her or to MD Anderson while undergoing chemo so she could keep up with it. Many at our office told her to go home or asked, “Why are you here?”
Those who worked side by side with her knew why. She had a life to live and wasn’t going to let cancer alter that. But this time, for the first time I heard her say, “I don’t know if I can do it again.” Hearing her say that scared me. I was frustrated, confused, and angry. I wanted to be able to identify with her, to carry some of her burden and say, “I know what you are going through.” But in all honesty, I have no clue. I have never been faced with losing my life if I didn’t take action, so how could I imagine and much less, 'know'? So I just sat there quiet.
We sat there in the light of that tiny lamp. It's not a strong light but it was enough to hold back the darkness that was around us. I knew nothing I could do at that moment but pray, to stand on her behalf and take this to my Father, my God; to Christ Jesus and offer a prayer of comfort, peace, and healing through faith; and much like that tiny lamp, offer a prayer of hope that would pierce the darkness and set its anchor in God.
My boss is not the only one who I know who has dealt with cancer. I lost my grandfather to cancer. One of the godliest women I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, Ginger Azzaro, battled cancer. And a few others I know have battled or are in the midst of battling cancer. We all, in some form or fashion have been affected by cancer, either personally or through a loved one, friend or associate. I don’t know about you, but I hate it.
I hate cancer.
I remember that feeling of hate and rage that morning, of having that feeling of everything in me yearning to destroy it, and the companion feeling of helplessness. But what can I do? What can I, Eric, do? I’m not a research scientist, haven’t got the gray matter to be. I’m not a doctor or nurse. Not a multi-millionaire able to give grants to studies and research for cures. I am a no-body, an average run-of-the-mill kind of guy, an average “Joe.” Typical middle-aged graying head, out of shape man with responsibilities to a wife, kids, a job and of course, my God. So, what can I do to fight cancer?
The answer unexpectedly came last summer. Another co-worker of mine, John, is really into road biking. You’ve seen them, those skinny-tire bikes where evidently, it’s required to wear skin-tight flashy clown clothes to ride them. He’s a good guy and very fit. I think to myself, “I like biking, at least I used to. Yea, that sounds like a good idea.”
I need to exercise anyway.
My wife tells me that I need to get into shape and my general smart-ass remark is, “Hellooo…round is a shape!” But the truth is, I really do need to get into shape, be fit, and get active and all that other stuff health nuts are always telling us to do.
The final push for me to get out and ride came when John told me about the LiveSTRONG Challenge that was happening in late October.
“What’s that?” I asked.
He pointed me to their web site. As I sat there reading and clicking through the pages, something in me jumped and I realized that this was my answer. This is how I, your average run-of-the-mill kind of guy, could help. Through the LiveSTRONG Foundation I can help fight cancer!
Their primary way of making the world aware and raising money for research and hospital care is through the LiveSTRONG Challenges. There are four Challenges held each year and they are held in four different cities, Seattle, San Jose, Philadelphia and Austin. I was excited that I could DO something instead of feeling helpless, so I immediately signed up to ride the 45 mile route. They have a 90 mile route but I'll let the mentally unstable among us like my friend John do that one.
I haven’t ridden a bike in I don’t know how long. I didn’t have a road bike, as John strongly suggested I buy but I did have a mountain bike.
So I began my “training” and it lasted the impressive duration of one morning. I got on my mountain bike one early Saturday morning in mud summer. With its knobby tires and front and rear shocks, I proceeded to ride to Andice, Texas, some 12 miles away. I figured no problem, it’s just sitting and pedaling, right? And of course I had my fancy-dancy CamelBak filled with that flashy red stuff Tiger Woods drinks. I was set!
An hour and 20 minutes later I arrive. Think about it, 80 minutes to cover 12 miles. I couldn't feel anything from the waist down and I think I dropped a testicle somewhere around mile eight. After coming to a stop at the General Store, I called my wife to come get me. John was right when he said I needed a road bike.
After weeks of looking and sharing my new found knowledge of all things road bike with my wife, much to her dismay, I bought a bike made by Jamis, The Satellite. One of only a few that were in my price range. It's a great bike for a beginner. 520 Chromoly steel with carbon fiber forks. Very smooth ride. I LOVE this bike.
Now armed with a true road bike I found I was able to make it to Andice and back with relative ease. With five weeks to go at this point, I felt ready for the 45 mile ride but I wasn't. It was late October and the time had come.
The start of the day was not good. My alarm clock did not go off. I awoke with 30 minutes to get to Dripping Springs, more than an hour away. I panicked.
I roll up on my bike after parking three miles away, to the back of the 10-miler pack. My group (45 milers) had already left.
"30 seconds to start!" blares the loud speaker.
I grabbed a bottle of something out of the ice chest and poured it into my water bottle, stuck it in the carriage and took off. I stopped at the first rest stop, five miles into the ride and did some stretches and signed the board in memory of Ginger Azzaro; refilled my water bottles and got back on the road. The weather was incredible, even a tad cool every now and then. Throughout the ride there are rest stops and of course this is a supported ride, meaning that there are vans going back and forth on the course changing flats and fixing bikes and for those that bit off more than they can chew, pick up the rider and take them to the finish line. Mind you now, the most I have ridden at any one time was 24 miles, from my home to Andice and back. Here, I was basically attempting to do that (mileage wise) twice in one day!
I took advantage of every rest stop. The largest was at mile 26. It was on a part of the course where all the routes came back together, the 90, 65 and 45 milers were all there. It was a madhouse. There was more food, drinks and even Mellow Johnny's (Lance's store) was handing out their signature espresso and coffees. They also had their mechanics working on bikes and fixing everything from grips and shifters to seats and chains for free!
A medical team tended to dehydrated riders and a massage therapy group offered cots where they worked out cramps and soreness if you wanted. I thought about lying on a cot but then realized I would probably not get up. I chatted with a fellow from Oklahoma. He planned to ride the 90 miles but the hills were killing him and now the 65 was proving to be too much, so he opted for the 45. He was a nice guy. He was a cancer survivor.
There were quite a few of survivors riding. I don’t know the exact number but total riders were in the five to six thousand range.
Back on the bike and on down the road I go. I was tired. My back and legs hurt. I could feel the back of my neck getting scorched. At one point I was going so slowly that a butterfly passed me.
Seriously…a butterfly. Whatever.
I was also passed by an older gentleman. I thought, for sure he was gonna have a heart attack right there and die in front of me. Sweat was pouring off his face and he looked to be in his late 50’s maybe in his early 60’s or so. Graying hair and round like me, totally not a biker like so many of us out there. I was going to ask if he was all right and if he needed some water -- then that’s when I noticed that it wasn’t sweat, it was tears.
He rode past ever so slowly, head down, breathing hard between the quiet sobs. As he moved on ahead, I saw on his back a picture of a young smiling handsome young man and written below it were the words,
“In memory of my son, Ian.
I love him.”
As I watched him slowly move on ahead, sadness draped across him like a thick blanket, it hit me. Yes, this ride is hard for me and yes it’s incredibly difficult to ride this many miles. I was hurting bad. Like I said before, my legs were killing me, felt like they were on fire, my back was cramping and stiff and my hands were aching. And let’s not even talk about my ass. I was uncomfortable to say the least and I just wanted the ride to be over and get off this damn bike!
But seeing that old man…seeing him openly weep for his son brought it all home for me, in a shameful way.
Here I am riding a stinkin’ bike in an event where they offer everything; food, drinks, mechanical support as well as emotional support for the riders.
The support was incredible. The ranch owners along the way decorate their gates and cheer you on, the local high school band plays and the cheerleaders are there to encourage you to keep going. It’s a great event and I know that if for some reason I can’t go on anymore, or I reach my limit or I have no more fight left in me, all I have to do is raise my hand and a van will come get me and take me to the finish line. As daunting as this ride was proving to be and as I struggled with every pedal stroke, I realized it pales in comparison to what my boss went through. I had to ask myself, where are the cheerleaders when one is going through chemo? Who is ringing the cow-bell, smiling and whooping and hollering encouragement during radiation? Who decorating the room with flowers, banners and balloons?
It came down to this, while riding this bike in this event, I have the option to quit; but those, those who have cancer, do not. They cannot simply raise their hand and quit cancer.
This is why I ride in the Challenge. This is why I will ride in it this year, and I will ride in it every year that I can, and if I can’t ride I will run and if I can’t run, I will walk. Seeing that old man ride and weep. Feeling the pain in my own body, on some level, allows me to identify with my boss and what she has endured.
I want to encourage you to join me. It’s not too late to sign up. If you would rather walk or run, you can do that, or if you would like to ride, come join me. I am stepping it up this year; I chose the 60 mile route. Am I in shape for it? If round is a shape then yes, I am in perfect shape. Will it hurt? Hell yes it will. Will I feel it for the next week, probably. Will I help fight cancer? You bet, and that my friend is how a no-body like me can fight cancer and you can too.
If you are not inclined to physically participate then you can certainly help fight cancer by making a donation. Thank you for taking the time to read this. It means a lot to me.
By the way, my boss? That fighter’s spirit came roaring back and she’s still my boss, and my friend and full of life. The metal mesh mask they used to pin her down to the table during treatments, now hangs on her wall to hold all the scarves she used to cover her hairless head and just several weeks ago, her doctor gave her a complete clean bill of health!
Cancer free, my friends, cancer free.
Praise God.
Eric
I flipped the pannier around and it fell apart. At least I thought it did at first but what fell off was the other pannier. They were attached to each other, back to back. 
